John Buchanan had been my family's lawyer for as long as I could remember; after he passed away, his son, Robert Buchanan, took over for his father. As tyrannical as his old man, he was deceptive and shifty, yet he was better at getting deals than a mafia boss. I hired Robert right away to represent me; I'd grown up with Robert, and although we'd attended different high schools, we traveled in similar social circles and had attended similar functions as young adults. While he had harbored a crush on me for many years, he'd met his wife, Cordelia, a young heiress, during law school, and they'd become the proud parents of three sons.

"Robbie," I said, allowing him to embrace me when we met at a coffee shop just a few days after my release from the hospital. "How are you?"

"Fine, just fine," he replies.

"Boys well?" I ask. "How old are they? What are they into?"

"Jason is seventeen and he's into astronomy—quite a whiz-kid," Robbie replies with a chuckle. "Then there's fifteen-year-old Harry, and he's so into the law that I swear it's genetic. And then there's Fred, he's twelve now, and he can speak any language you put in front of him, and he's got a fondness for Russian literature of all things. He so enjoys breaking up the plots and such..."

"That's fascinating," I reply, running my finger along the large rim of my mug of hot chocolate in front of me.

"And your children?" Robbie asks, sipping his coffee. "How are they all doing? I mean, Alexandrine must be..."

I quickly stir my whipped cream into the hot drink. "She will be eleven in June," I reply, "and the twins will be one in May."

Robbie gives me a smile as plumes of steam waft upwards from his coffee. "Come on, kid—I've known you since we were kids. Be honest—do you intend to make small talk with me all day, or do you need legal advice?"

I choke slightly as the hot drink goes down my throat. "The second one," I admit rather sheepishly, returning my mug to its saucer.

"All right," Robbie replies. "What's going on?"

"I want a divorce," I reply.

Robbie raises his eyebrows. "What happened?"

"Owen is having an affair with the new nurse in his section of the hospital," I reply in a voice full of contempt. "She joined the hospital last spring, just before the twins were born. Her name is Jillian Grace Ashwick, and I know full well that she will try to get everything..."

"Hire a P.I.?" Robbie asks.

I nod. "Yes. Got photographic and video evidence."

Robbie nods, mulling it over. "Do you have all of the P.I's documentation in a secure location?" he wants to know.

"In my desk at work," I reply. "Unless I do something too out of the ordinary, I know that nobody will go through the drawer."

"And why is that?" Robbie says, chuckling. "Maybe someone is looking for a legal pad or a pen or something—or some of those Jelly Beans you always carry around," he says softly. "How do you know that they won't look in the drawer, see all your P.I.'s work, and rat you out?"

I give him a tight smile as I raise my cocoa to my lips once again. "Because, my friend, the drawer I put it all in has a hidden bottom," I reply.

. . .

I go in to see my mother as soon as scheduling permits and she commends me on my job well done in getting Christina Harper out of less than good situation with Ryder Knox. I smile and thank her, listening to trivial things around the office and how the family is doing, when I know that I have to tell her. I mean, I do, don't I? I wanted to get away from Owen as soon as possible, and there had to be a quick way to do so without hurting the kids...

"Mom, I'm sorry, but I have to talk to you about something personal," I say swiftly to her, putting just the right amount of emphasis on the word. "Can we get personal for a moment, please?"

Immediately, my mother goes ridged, looking concerned. "What's going on, sweetheart?" she asks.

I sigh. "Owen is cheating on me," I say before I can hold back any longer, and her eyes flare in a sudden moment of anger. "I know, I know, I should've said something before now."

My mother sighs. "I hate it when parental units are right about things like this," she says, shaking her head.

I lean forward, rubbing my temples. "No shit," I reply. "I became entirely too dependent on Owen. I mean, I jumped from being with Ulysses to being with Owen, all on the same night. I mean, maybe he's got a sex addiction or something —I don't know, and I really don't care. All I do know is that it's over. I've started divorce proceedings already, and I'm expecting full custody..."

"And the penthouse?" my mother askes. "Do you want to live there?"

I shake my head. "No—too many memories. I actually put a down payment on a house in Westchester County with the million dollars that Chelsea gave me." I chuckle for a minute, shaking my head. "I was actually going to surprise Owen with it, if the P.I. didn't find any suspicious activity. Owen and I have been talking about moving into a house for quite a while, but now I'm going to live there with the kids, and without him..."

My mother reaches across her desk, taking her hands in mine. "Well, you and the kids are more than welcome to stay with me and your father," she tells me. "I suspect that you want to get the hell outta dodge as soon as possible... Doesn't Owen have that medical conference in Miami this week?"

I nod. "Yes, he does. As a matter of fact, I saw him off to the airport this morning, just managing not to throw up as he went off to the security line with Nurse Minnie," I say, making my voice shrill as I said the voice of the woman who had halfway broken up my family.

"I take it she's the woman who...?"

"Yes," I say through gritted teeth.

"Noted," my mother replies. "Well, it's Friday now. Why don't you collect the kids and anything you might want or need from the penthouse and come straight to the house before dinner?"

"Hunter won't mind that we're crashing with you until the offer goes through on the house?" I ask, my eighteen-year-old brother entering my mind's eye.

"The kid graduates in three months, and his attending Yale depends on his good behavior," my mother says, laughing.

I pick up one of my mother's pens, pressing the button over and over again, the silver head—covered ever so slightly with ink—rising and falling with each amount of pressure. "So, Dad's looking forward to having another lawyer in the family?" I ask her casually with a smile.

"We're betting on it," my mother admits to me then. "Your father is convinced that Hunter will do the few years of law school and then join him. But I'm completely convinced that he is going to get the law degree and then go to police academy. I suppose we'll just have to see."

I nod. "We are indeed," I reply.

. . .

I was able to explain to Alexandrine in so many words what was happening that night, and my intelligent daughter immediately understood what was happening. It didn't take as long as I anticipated to pack up the penthouse with our necessities and then some, and soon my car was loaded with my things, my children's things, and anything and everything I believed I was entitled to. We drove across town and soon left Manhattan and made our way to Long Island. The twins had fallen asleep in the backseat, but Alexandrine was riding up front next to me.

"You understand, don't you, sweetheart?" I ask her as we drive through the falling night on the highway. "I mean, you get it?"

Alexandrine sighs, nodding. "Yeah, I get it. I mean, Daddy lied," she said, putting emphasis on the word. "He did a bad thing. He was...unfaithful, right? That's the word for it?"

I nodded. "Yes. I hired a special private investigator to spy on Daddy, and that's how I found out."

"Why did you want to spy on Daddy?" Alexandrine asks. "Isn't that not a nice thing to do either?"

I forced myself not to laugh at the innocence of this statement. "Well, no, honey, it's not a very nice thing to do, no. But when you get older, sometimes you think you're entitled to do certain things, and sometimes you are, and sometimes you're really not."

"What's entitled mean?" Alexandrine asks, confused.

"It means that some people think they're allowed to do whatever they want," I reply as we continue driving. "Like the bad guys in your movies."

Alexandrine bites her lip. "Is Daddy a bad guy?"

Shit, I think to myself. "No, of course not, sweetheart," I reply as we begin to near the Westchester County exit. "Your daddy just did a bad thing. Listen, sometimes adults who are married get lazy in that they don't tell their husband or wife every little thing that's going on in their head. They think they're justified in not telling the other person something, and sometimes that one thing turns into two things, and then three things, and then, sometimes, you don't want to tell the other person anything, to the point where there are just so many secrets that maybe the whole marriage is just built up of lies..."

"Justified?" Alexandrine wants to know.

"The person thinks they're doing the right thing by not telling the other person what they're doing," I reply. "Maybe they're afraid of what the other person will do, or maybe they know they're doing something wrong and they just feel too guilty to say anything."

"And what did Daddy do?" she asks. "What was the bad thing?"

I sigh. "Honey, you remember the discussion we had about how mommies and daddies have babies?" I ask her.

She nods. "Yes."

"Well, that thing... It's not just for making babies," I reply. "Men and women, and men and men, and women and women... Sometimes, people just do it because it feels nice."

"But men and men and women and women... They can't make babies when they do it, can they?"

I shake my head. "No, no they cannot. But there's nothing wrong with the men and women that decide to do it with the same gender—it's different, but it's not a bad thing."

"So Daddy did what he's supposed to only do with you...with another lady?" my daughter asks.

I nod. "Yes, sweetheart. He did."

Alexandrine shakes her head, looking disgusted. "Eva Solano's parents got a divorce last year for that," she tells me quietly.

I nod. "I remember hearing about that."

"Well, they had something called a custody battle, and then she only lived with her mom after that... Is it like a real battle? Like a war?"

I smile a little at that, pulling into my parent's neighborhood. "Well, it's like a war in that sometimes people can say or do something not very nice. But there aren't weapons—hopefully—other than mean things to say."

She sighs a little. "Could I... Can I stay with you, Mama?" she asks me then. "I want to live with you."

I smile at that, quickly dashing the tears from my eyes before she can spot them. "I had a meeting with my old friend Robbie about that—you remember Robbie? He comes to all our Christmas parties. You know his son Fred—he's about a year older than you."

Alexandrine nods. "I remember Fred."

"Well, Robbie and I talked about me getting full custody of you and the twins, it means that you would live with me and you would probably only have to see your father during weekends..."

"No!" Alexandrine shouts. "Please! I don't wanna see Daddy! Don't make me, please Mommy! Please!"

I swerve slightly on the road, pulling off on the street before the final turnoff for my parents' property. I park on the street, peering in the rearview mirror to make sure the twins haven't woken up, and then to make sure the cops aren't following us for my brief faux pas on the road back there. I bite my lip, wanting to approach the subject delicately, despite the acute anger threatening to bubble beneath the surface. "Sweetheart," I say quietly, turning to my daughter then, "do you remember what Mommy does for a living?"

She nods. "Yes. You help people in danger—special victims."

I smile at her, nodding. "That's right, sweetie. And do you remember what makes a victim special?"

"If they're a kid...or if they got hurt somehow...down there," she says, not looking at me, and immediately, I grow angry.

What the hell did you do to my daughter, Owen?! I think to myself, but force my temper to remain dormant. "Honey... You remember what Mommy told you, don't you? If someone hurt you, especially down there, that you have to tell me about it, right?"

Alexandrine sighs. "Yes."

I reach out and take her hand, and she grips mine. "Honey, did somebody touch you down there? Or make you do things you didn't want to do?"

She looks away, her eyes filling with tears. "Yes," she managed to get out.

I nod at her. "Okay. Can you tell me who did?"

She shakes her head. "No."

"Okay. Can you tell me when it happened?"

"Whenever you have to do double shifts at work..."

Son of a bitch, I think to myself. What the hell have you done?! "Okay, honey. Can you tell me where it happened?"

"In your bedroom at the penthouse," she replies.

Dammit, I think. "Honey, I can only stop the person who hurt you if you tell me who did it," I tell her.

She bites her lip. "I can't..."

"Did they tell you to keep it a secret?" I ask her. "Did they say bad things were going to happen if you told?"

She nods again. "Yes."

"Well, what did they do?"

"I can't tell you..."

"Honey, yes you can," I reply. "Did the person say that I would be mad at you if you told me? Because that's not true."

"It's not?"

I shake my head. "Of course not. If they hurt you, it's their fault, not yours. Never yours, honey. I promise."

"Daddy did it," she replies. "Daddy touched me down there..." She breaks down completely then, sobbing. "He told me not to tell you..."

Immediately, I wrap my arms around her. "This is not your fault," I assure her as she throws her arms around me. "I promise you, this is not your fault. Come on, we have to get the twins dropped off, and then we're going someplace safe. And then he'll never hurt you again..."

. . .

Even though my mother advised me against it, she insisted that I bring Sonny as backup to pick up Owen from the airport. The cover story to everyone, including Sonny, was that Alexandrine had been diagnosed with anemia and that she needed Owen's blood type for an immediate transfusion. Despite the fact that her AB-positive blood could be found virtually anywhere, as a medical professional, it was widely known even to Owen that familial matches are usually best. With the twins safe at the Long Island house under Hunter's care, Sonny and I arrived at the airport a few minutes before Owen's flight was due to land.

"You going to tell me what's going on or not?" Sonny asks me as we await Owen's flight in the staff zone.

"The last time we had a conversation like this, things were said that we later regretted," I reply.

"Promise—best behavior," he assures me.

"We're not here to pick up Owen," I reply, "we're here to pick up Owen... As in, we're going to arrest him."

"On what charge?!" Sonny demands.

"Rape of a minor," I reply.

"Nurse Minnie is hardly a minor..."

My eyes lock onto his. "My mother told you?!"

He sighs. "Yes. We're partners, Leia, come on. Besides, it's not like I've got anyone to tell..."

"Not Nurse Minnie," I reply. "He raped... Sonny, Owen raped Alexandrine," I say quietly, not wanting to draw attention.

"Son of a bitch," Sonny says.

"We're waiting on the DNA," I reply, "but Alexandrine was checked out in the hospital and evidence points that she was...sodomized," I say, feeling sick to my stomach.

"That son of a bitch," Sonny whispers. "Can I beat the living crap out of him, please, Leia? Because I'd really like to..."

"Very funny," I say, shaking my head at him. "No. My collar. I'm going to beat the living crap out of him, psychologically, at least."

The arrivals' board dings then, and Sonny and I are made aware that Owen's flight has arrived. We look at our handlers, who nod at us to go to the gate; we've got our badges, the consent forms, and the visitor's passes to get by the gate. We will have Owen cornered, and he won't be able to get away. We walk through the airport and soon find the proper flight gate, and we stand back and wait for Owen to get off the plane with Nurse Minnie.

"Leia, thank god!" Owen cried, still the doting husband in public as he rushed forward, throwing his arms around me.

"Get off me, you sick son of a bitch!" I say through my teeth, pulling back. My husband has the nerve to look shocked as I take out my pair of handcuffs. "Turn around," I say.

"Listen to her!" Sonny says, forcibly turning Owen around.

I unhook the cuffs; the clicking sounds resembling thunder in my ears. "Owen Torrance, you're under arrest for the rape and sodomy of a minor, sexual abuse, and incest," I say, clicking the cuffs around his wrists so quickly and so tightly that he grunts in momentary pain. I place a rough hand on his shoulder then, moving him forward and through LaGuardia Airport. "Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney; if you cannot afford that right, one will be appointed to you—"

"Why are you doing this?!" Owen demands as Sonny courteously shoves him forward through the terminal for me.

"Because I'm a police officer, you psycho," I mutter.

"Our daughter is lying in the hospital as we speak with anemia," Owen tells me persuasively, almost as if I was a stranger. "She needs an immediate blood transfusion—you said on the phone—"

"She lied, genius!" Sonny says, and takes hold of Owen from me at my nod. "I'm sure, as the husband of a cop, you know that cops will frequently lie in order to get their suspect right where they want them, physically or verbally."

"I didn't do anything wrong," Owen says firmly as we manage to get him out into the parking lot.

"Shut up, you dirtbag!" Sonny shouts, putting him into the back of the car and slamming the door. "Good thing we didn't carpool..."

"Mind running him down for me?" I ask him.

Sonny shakes his head. "Not at all. I can yell at him some more."

I peek over my shoulder then, and see that Nurse Minnie has fled. "Must've run off to find an attorney," I mutter to myself.

Sonny laughs. "Good luck finding one," he says sarcastically, circling his car to the driver's side. "You gonna be okay?"

I nod at him. "Fine," I reply. "Just going to go off for a while. I need to, I don't know, process all this."

Sonny nods. "Understood. Call if you need anything."

I smile at him. "Thanks," I reply. I turn and watch Sonny drive off with my soon-to-be-ex-husband in his car, and know then that things would change.

. . .

"Sorry about just barging in on you like this..."

"Hey, no problem," Olivia replies with a smile. "It's nice to catch up. Is everything going okay? I heard about the divorce. I'm really sorry."

I shake my head. "You know when you think you know a guy, and apparently my soon-to-be-ex liked them...younger."

"I heard about Nurse Minnie," Olivia tells me. "How old is she? Twenty something or is she one of those barely legal candy stripers?"

"Owen isn't just interested in the nurses at his hospital," I say.

"What else is he interested in?"

"Alexandrine," I reply, the vomit threatening to enter my throat again.

Her brown eyes widen. "Alexandrine... As in your daughter Alexandrine? Your ten-year-old daughter Alexandrine?"

I sigh. "Yes. She told me on the night I was explaining my intention to get a divorce that she didn't want to see her father. Then it sort of came spilling out after that..."

"You went to the hospital?"

I nod. "Yes, right after I dropped the twins off at my mother's house. I could hardly keep them in the car all night..."

"Of course not," Olivia replied. "What did the hospital find?"

"Repeated sodomizing," I reply, shuddering.

"Bastard," Olivia replies. "What is the matter with people?"

"No idea," I say.

"Did you arrest him?"

I nod. "Damn right I did."

"What charges did your father permit you to file?"

"Rape and sodomy of a minor, sexual abuse, and incest," I reply.

"Make bail?"

I shake my head. "No. My father was persuasive enough at arraignment to get him remanded without bail. Apparently, sodomy and incest charges stick, being a respected medical professional aside..." There is a knock at Olivia's front door then, and I get to my feet. "I got it, don't worry."

Olivia smiles. "Thanks."

I cross her apartment and peek through the spy hole, but don't recognize the young woman standing there. Opening it, I smile at her. "Yes?"

"Olivia Benson?"

I stand aside and Olivia waves from her chair in the living room. "Right there," I say, pointing.

"She's been served," the woman says, handing over what appears to be a pamphlet from a doctor's office.

"Served? Seriously, Leia, what next?" Olivia says, rolling her eyes.

"Wait—Leia Torrance?" the woman asks.

I nod. "That's me," I reply.

"Great!" she cries, reaching into her messenger bag and pulling out a second pamphlet and handing it over. "Now I don't have to go Downtown. You've been served, too. Have a nice day," she says, turning around and leaving.

I shut the door behind her and open my summons before handing over Olivia's and wonder if Owen wants us to witness— "Oh, my god..."

"What is it, Leia?" Olivia asks.

I raise my eyes to hers. "Owen's had a heart attack," I reply.

. . .

I make my way to the prison hospital ward and show my badge at the front gate of the place, whereupon I'm order to surrender my gun, which I do immediately. No reason why these guilty—albeit disturbed—prisoners should have to wind up with bullets in their brains. I make my way down to the recovery area, and find Owen in the sterile environment, swathed entirely in white—almost as if even the hospital ward was promoting his innocence—and lying weakly in a bed. An I.V. was in his arm, and the heart monitor was beating intermittently. I knew that Owen could have easily fooled medical care professionals by faking the symptoms of a heart attack, but they were, after all, professionals.

"Owen." My tone is clipped as I approach the bed, and I sit next to him in the chair without a back, waiting for him to respond.

He opens his eyes, and sighs, tears threatening to fall. "I didn't rape of sodomize Alexandrine, Leia. I swear."

"A guilty or innocent man would say the same thing."

He covers his face with his hands. "I'm guilty of infidelity, Leia, but not this. Not sexual abuse. Not rape. Not incest."

"And the sodomy?"

"Come on, Leia. We were married for a long time," Owen replies, putting his hands down and shaking his head. "You know what I was into."

"Yeah, you just needed a little girl to fulfill your fantasies," I reply bitterly. "Why Alexandrine?" I whisper.

"I didn't do anything to her, Leia!"

I scoff a little, turning to paperwork on the small table beside his bed. "Looking over medical files in your spare time?"

"No." Owen waits for me to turn back to him before he gives me a bitter look in his eyes. "Robbie Buchanan stopped by to see me today."

"Did he?"

"Yes. Served me with divorce papers just after my heart attack."

"I see."

"You want a divorce? Is that why these charges came up?" he demands, shaking his head. "If that's the case, then that's a new low, even for you."

"I would never make up these charges," I reply through my teeth. "Do you think so little of me that I would do something like that?! Sure, I may think you're a lying sack of shit right about now, but I would never wish you ill." I sigh a little, shaking my head. "On second thought, maybe this heart attack was payback."

"Pardon me?" Owen demands.

I sigh. "Look, I spoke with my dad on the way over here, and he's fully prepared to offer you a deal."

"Your dad? Ha!" Owen scoffed. "He always hated me..."

"Probably because he and my mother saw something in you that I didn't see, or want to believe. And that's that you have an affinity for children, Owen." As my husband scoffs and looks away from me, I run my hands through my hair. "Look, I am only here to tell you about the deal, and to make sure you sign the papers, and then I'm out of here."

"Fine. Let's hear this deal that'll lock up an innocent man."

"You're innocent until proven guilty by the courts, but you're guilty in my mind and heart," I reply, sighing. "Okay, here's the deal. Fifteen to twenty for rape of a minor, and Dad'll drop the incest and sexual abuse charge. This'll all go away in that you won't have to face a jury."

"You don't like this deal at all," Owen says.

I nod. "Of course I didn't, that's why there's something else."

"What?"

I feel my hands resembling fists. "Fifteen instead of the twenty on the condition that your parental rights of Alexandrine and the twins. You wouldn't be allowed anywhere near them until they're eighteen; of course, they'd all surpass that age by the time you're released."

"And if I refuse this deal?" Owen asks.

"Then you get life, plus twenty-five years. No parole. No light. No anything. You will die in prison."

"How long do I get to consider?"

"Seventy-two hours," I reply.

"Fine."

I reach into my purse and jab a pen at him. "Just sign the damn papers, Owen. I want to get out of here."

Owen sits up in bed, taking the pen without protest and signing his name in all the necessary places on the paper. "There."

"Good," I reply. "I'm taking it to a judge today—owes Dad a favor. Then we'll be all squared away."

"Great," Owen replies, distant.

"Goodbye, Owen," I say.

I get to my feet and walk to the door of the hospital ward and peek at him. My soon-to-be-ex-husband is staring at the eggshell-white color of the hospital wall, looking at everything and seeing nothing. I turn around fully then and make my way out of the door. I flash my badge at the door and get my gun back, making my way to the front door and outside. I get into my car and set the papers in the seat next to me, shaking my head.

I drive Downtown, just half an hour before everyone is gone for the night. I meet with Robbie and my father and we soon find Judge Donner. He understands that Owen will not be there, but authorizes Robbie as my lawyer and my father as the witness of him signing, authorizing, and filing the papers. I shake his hand at the end of it all, and he nods to himself.

"Well, everything's in order now, Ms. Beckett," he says. "As stated in the agreement that your husband signed, he's relinquished his parental rights and you now have full custody of the minor children Alexandrine, Rebecca and Henry. It also says here that you wish the children to take on your surname..."

"Yes, Judge Donner," I reply.

"So ordered," the judge replies. He reaches into his desk and takes out blank birth certificates. "You have the originals, I take it?"

"Yes, Your Honor," I say, swiftly taking them out of my folder and handing them over to him.

"All right... Alexandrine Victoria Torrance is now known as Alexandrine Victoria Beckett... Rebecca Opal Torrance is Rebecca Opal Beckett. And Henry Owen Torrance is now known as..."

"Henry Lincoln Beckett," I say before I can stop myself. "You can legally change his middle name, too, can't you?"

The judge nods. "Of course, Miss Beckett," he replies. "All right. I'll just file these and then you'll receive them in the mail to the address listed here in Westchester County."

"Thank you, Judge Donner," I reply. I walk out of there with Robbie and my father immediately thereafter, mulling over the notion that I was no longer Leia Gabrielle Torrance, but now back to Leia Gabrielle Beckett. I watch as Robbie and my father shake each other's hands and I methodically do the same, when my phone ringing takes me away from them. "Detective Beckett," I say.

"Leia Torrance?" asks the voice.

"Leia Beckett now, but yes," I reply.

"My apologies," says the woman on the other end. "This is the medical examiner, Natasha Warner."

"Oh, Natasha, hi," I say, recalling how her mother, Melinda, had frequently helped SVU on their various cases over the years. "Calling about my DNA?"

"I am indeed," she replies. "Or lack thereof, really."

I blink. "No DNA? He used a condom, then?"

"No condom lubricant found," Natasha replies. "Judging by my findings, it looks like there was a popular lubricant found..."

"So he used lubricant," I say.

"You don't understand," says a voice from behind me.

I turn around then. "Natasha," I say, turning off my phone.

She smiles. "Thought I'd better give you the news in person—your mother said you were here, so here I am."

"What news?" I asked. "What's going on?"

She sighs. "Your daughter was definitely abused, Leia, but not in the way you might think."

"Explain it to me, then. Please."

Natasha sighs. "The lubricant is popular with lesbians," she replies. "I don't mean to sound disparaging, that's just the case."

"Keep talking," I reply.

"Judging by the shape of the doctor's findings of your daughter's rectum where she was sodomized, it looks like she was sodomized with a foreign object and not any kind of body part."

"Foreign...? Are you saying that my husband...?"

Natasha sighs. "I don't think so. I think a woman abused your daughter."

"Basing it on the lubricant and the way her rectum looked?"

She shakes her head. "Not altogether, no. Also based on the fingerprints found when I was given permission to examine your daughter. We got a hit in the system on one pair found."

"The doctors or nurses?" I ask.

"No, thankfully," Natasha replies. "Do you know anyone by the name of Chelsea D'Arcy?" she asks.

At once, my blood runs cold. "Yes. She's my sister."

Natasha sighs. "Well, it looks like your sister is the one who did whatever happened to your daughter," she replies.

At once, my mind clicked—that was why Chelsea had given me the clothes, the handbags, and the million dollars. It was blood money, all of it. She didn't want to absolve herself of the guilt done to me over the years. She wanted to absolve herself of the guilt of her attraction of prepubescent girls. Immediately, I turned around and was sick on the fine marble flooring at my feet. Shaking, I shook my head—Owen had been innocent the whole time.